


On The Edge

by queerofthedagger



Series: Chasing Stars - A Series of Jegulus One-Shots [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, First War with Voldemort, Light Angst, M/M, Some Fluff, open but hopeful ending, the boys just need a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 20:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofthedagger/pseuds/queerofthedagger
Summary: James just wants one night to forget about running and fighting. Saving Regulus from a boring date wasn’t exactly on the list, but it turns out to be one of his better ideas, all things considered.





	On The Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr Prompt-fill: "I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having. "
> 
> Hope you like it!

James pulls the door to the Leaky Cauldron open, nodding at someone who's passing him without really taking notice. The pub is dimly lit, smoke wafting through the thick air, and his eyes need a moment to adjust to the change from the bright lights of London while he weaves his way through scattered groups of people.

It's not as crowded as it could be, and he once again mourns that all his friends already deserted him. Honestly, he expects as much from Remus, and recently it's rare to catch Peter at all, but Sirius, leaving him for an 'early night'? Unacceptable.

He's not even close to being drunk yet, tipsy at most, and he's planning to take advantage of the whole three days without work, or Order missions, or any other responsibilities in what feels like forever. Friends or no friends.

It doesn't take long for a Firewhiskey to land in his hands and after thanking the barkeeper, he turns to face the room, propping one elbow behind himself onto the bar and crossing his ankles.

He pulls a grimace at the first sip, the burning a stark difference to the cheap Muggle beer they had, but he relishes how he can feel it running down his throat.

Letting his gaze wander through the room, searching if he can’t find someone he knows and who might be more willing to forget the bloody world with him for a night, he startles when he thinks he just found Sirius.

On the second glance it's rather obvious that his friend didn’t abandon him for this. Not that encountering Regulus Black here is any less strange, with a date of all things if his eyesight isn't failing him even more than usual.

She looks exactly like James would Regulus' date expect to look - pretty but not exceptionally so, long, brown hair and pristine, obviously expensive robes. Everything about her practically screams Pureblood and James snorts softly at the predictability, ignoring the thought that Regulus could do much better.

They're sitting next to each other, but it seems like she does most of the talking while Regulus merely nods along. James can only make out his profile from where he's standing, but the way Regulus’ eyes keep straying to the door and over the people around them is telling enough.

Shaking his head he turns away, noting with surprise that his glass is already empty and ordering a new one. He exchanges a few words with the barkeeper, how the business is getting worse with every day, how people barely linger anymore and, basically, how the whole war is just shit.

James agrees, wholeheartedly, but he doesn't want to think about it, wants just one night to forget about fighting and being scared and always looking over his shoulder. He thinks he should probably have stayed in Muggle London, but the whiskey is good and he doesn't feel inclined to move again. And his eyes keep straying to that one table despite his best efforts.

He downs his glass in one go and orders another, earning himself an amused look from the barkeeper – Benny, if he remembers correctly – but it’s not like he cares, like he has to justify himself to anyone, and he just wants more of that fuzziness spreading through his whole body. Of the way his thinking is getting slower, of how when he moves his head quickly, the colours and faces blur together and everything is becoming more abstract, inconsequential, like there’s only him and whatever he sets his mind to – like he’s fourteen again and the whole world is only waiting for him to grasp it, to form it like he wants it to be.

His eyes are drawn to Regulus once again and he wonders if it might be the same for him, if he also just wants to forget for one night, a few hours, ignoring what is happening around them. No matter which side you’re on, war is war, horrible and draining, and they’re both too young for this constant threat of death. For seeing people getting murdered, for the fear of losing everyone they love; for fighting, killing, being scared.

Regulus doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself though, quite the opposite. His shoulders are tense, fingers drumming a rhythm against the table James can’t hear over the low chatter, and even from where he stands, he can make out his expression, as if he has just bitten into a lemon. It’s the same as when they pulled pranks in Hogwarts, just lacking the amusement Regulus tried to hide back then.

Maybe it’s because James is bored, or drunk, or because of a sudden burst of sympathy or just because he always rather liked Regulus – maybe it’s a bit of everything, but it’s not like he’s still in the state of mind to question his impulses. If anyone is going to ask, he’s simply going to blame his friends for abandoning him, he thinks, before ordering two whiskeys and slowly walking over to the table.

They don’t notice him until he’s coming to a halt right in front of them and James doesn’t have a plan, just that he’s going to save Regulus from the obviously terrible date he’s having and so he grins brightly, plopping into the chair next to Regulus and throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Regulus, Merlin it’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” he says cheerfully, ignoring the way Regulus stares at him like he lost his mind. He waits for another beat before turning to the girl, who looks at him like he’s dirt under her shoe, and dims his smile down a bit. “Sorry to interrupt, didn’t look like anything important was going on here.”

They’re both still staring silently but it’s not like he expected anything else. He pointedly slides one glass over to Regulus. “Here, you looked like you could need it, cheers!” he says mirthfully, clinking his own glass against it before taking a sip and leaning back.

“Are you just going to let him treat me like that?!” the girl demands, finding her voice at last.

Regulus is looking from her to him and he pulls up his most innocent expression, the one he used for his mother and McGonagall, but before Regulus can say anything she’s already getting up.

Grabbing her cloak, she sneers at both of them and says, “Don’t bother contacting me again. You were boring anyway,” and within seconds, she’s gone.

James relishes in the way Regulus’ shoulders relax ever so slightly and watches as he takes a sip from the whiskey, the way his throat moves as he swallows, long fingers curled around the glass.

“So,” Regulus says after downing half of the glass, and James has to shake himself a bit to focus on the words. “Care to tell me what you think you’re doing?”

One of his eyebrows is raised in that slightly condescending manner James thinks has to be a family trait, but the corner of his mouth twitches and there’s some amusement dancing in his eyes, so he thinks he might not be as annoyed as he claims to be.

“Saving you, obviously,” he grins, tilting his head a bit. “You didn’t look like you were having fun and I thought you might need some, for a change.”

“Ruining a perfectly good date, that’s what you did – at least as far as my parents will be concerned,” Regulus says, but he doesn’t look too concerned.

“Yes well, your parents are many things, but _fun_ is not one of them,” he shoots back, gesturing for the barkeeper to send them another round. “Though, I’m sorry if they bother you about it. Blame me, they should be used to that.”

Regulus laughs, and James is a bit surprised by how… nice it sounds. It’s not as barking as Sirius’, but it’s an open and carefree sound that makes him smile and feel rather accomplished.

Then Regulus smirks and says, “True enough. Or I might try telling them a joke, the urge to laugh might shock them enough that they forget about the whole thing.”

It takes a moment to process that Regulus is actually joking with him, but then he’s laughing as well, grinning brightly. He’s not sure if it’s really that funny or if he’s just drunk by now, but it doesn’t really matter. “See, that’s already more fun than you had over the last hour.”

“Watched me for a long time, did you?” Regulus asks, eyes gleaming in the flickering light from the candle, and James is most definitely not blushing. “Anyway, what’s your great plan, then?”

He takes the change of subject gratefully, gesturing to the two new glasses that just arrived. “Getting drunk is a good start, don’t you think?” 

Regulus tips his glass towards him, but then his expression sobers visibly and he looks at him with narrowed eyes. “How do I know that this is not some twisted scheme to get me drunk and question me, or some sort of ambush?”

James gapes for a second, his brain having difficulties with the sudden shift of topic before he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “First of all, I wouldn’t do this, I’m not that shrewd. And then, I honestly just want to forget the whole bloody war for one night, I want to… just not talk, not even _think_ about it, alright?”

The time it takes until Regulus slowly nods feels way too long, but the small smile makes it worth it. “Fair enough, no talking about the war or anything related to it. We should probably get out of here though,” he muses, eyes taking in the people around them.

It’s only now that James thinks about how this might look to anyone who has an idea who they are – neither of their allegiances is a secret, and it probably wouldn’t do either of them any good to be seen with the other.

It hits him how weird this situation actually is, spending a night drinking with _the enemy,_ with someone he might be very well fighting for life or death tomorrow, but it’s impossible to see Regulus, to see this boy he watched growing up, watched small and nervous at 11, watched him fighting with Sirius, coming back to school looking haggard and miserable – it’s impossible to hate him, fear him, to see him as a threat.

“I’m not going to the Hogshead,” he says, shoving all those thoughts as far away as possible but intent on making sure that that’s not an option.

“Don’t be stupid,” Regulus laughs, “That would be the equivalent to handing in a defection letter for me. I meant Muggle London, you dimwit.”

He’s gaping again, he knows, but honestly, that’s probably the last statement he expected to hear.

Regulus rolls his eyes but is obviously not inclined to explain himself, just getting up and nudging his shoulder.

“You can’t go into Muggle London in robes,” he says when he decides to just go with it, already pulling his wand to solve that last obstacle.

He didn’t expect the hand on his wrist, pushing it away. “There’s no way I’m letting you transfigure my clothes Potter, you’re way too drunk. Not to mention that it’s unnecessary.”

“I’m not – “ his protest dies on his tongue when Regulus shrugs off his robes, revealing a perfectly acceptable suit underneath. It looks better than should be allowed, the first two buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned and the dark blue waistcoat only showing off how… well, bloody gorgeous he is.

“That should work,” he mutters, mainly to say something and justify his staring, and then quickly turns around and grabs his cloak. He stops at the bar to pay for their drinks and, after a look at his watch, buys a still closed bottle just to be safe. If he remembers correctly, the bars in Muggle London close ridiculously early and he’s _not_ losing his plan of getting so wasted that he can’t remember his own name to some stupid Muggle laws.

He stops Regulus with a hand on his arm, a moment before they step through the door. “This might be a… stupid question, but – did you ever go out drinking in Muggle London? Just, I don’t want to end up with some incident in the end.”

Regulus stares at him before he laughs, opening the door. “Yes, I’ve been to Muggle London before. If you must know, I actually go out for a drink there quite regularly. The pleasure of anonymity and all that.”

Well, it’s unexpected, but he’s slowly coming to accept that this might happen some more times in the course of the night.

It’s cold and raining lightly, the bright colours of signs and streetlamps reflecting on the wet asphalt but there are still people walking around, young students laughing and gathering in loud groups, blissfully oblivious to the threat looming over all their heads.

“You’re not boring, by the way,” he breaks the silence after some time, not knowing why he says it but feeling like it’s important. It’s true, for what it’s worth, he always found him rather intriguing, no matter how many times Sirius insisted that his brother is just like the rest of his family.

To James, it was always kind of obvious that he isn’t – for starters, he’s a brilliant seeker, the only one to actually give him a challenge on the pitch, and in the year he was Head Boy he got to know him, a little bit, got to see that he actually _cared_. There was no doubt that the loss of Sirius was hard on him, but they’re both stubborn beyond belief and never managed to sort it out.

“Err, thanks, I suppose? Whatever did I do to receive the honour from Mr. Trouble himself?” Regulus asks, and it’s biting but he’s grinning, and James rather enjoys the banter.

“It’s a high honour, let me tell you! No, but I meant because that girl said that. I mean, what kind of flimsy insult is that even, it’s not like she gave you much opportunity to say something.”

Regulus eyes him for a moment, smirking faintly. “You really _did_ watch me for some time, huh? Anyway, I think being persuaded by her parents to date a guy that has no interest in girls whatsoever can be rather boring.”

James stumbles, nearly pushing over a bike leaning against a pillar, and Regulus laughs at him, head thrown back and one hand on James’ shoulder – to steady whom of them, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t care, either.

“Well, didn’t expect that one,” he grins when Regulus calmed down again, adding, “the advantage of not having a care for gender.”

Regulus raises a brow and tilts his head to the side. “I thought you and – what was her name, Evans? Wasn’t that your ‘happily ever after’?”

He waves a hand, shaking his head but regretting the action when it messes with his balance. “Not really, I mean don’t get me wrong, she’s brilliant and I chased after her for a ridiculously long time, but that’s what it was, mostly. An interesting chase and we quickly realised that we work better as friends.”

Regulus hums, and their arrival at a small pub in the basement of a house lets the conversation end there. They find a table in the corner, the room cosy with coloured lights hanging along the walls and some small groups of people of different ages chatting amongst themselves. There’s some music playing in the background, the kind of stuff Sirius likes to blast through their flat at an obnoxious volume, and James doesn’t hesitate to get them each a beer and some rounds of shots.

It’s surprisingly easy, talking with Regulus. He asks after some of their pranks which James is glad to share, they exchange stories about teachers and former students they knew, about Quidditch and stories of Sirius making an idiot of himself. Not once do they come close to the war or that it really, _really_ shouldn’t be this comfortable and funny, but they’re both drunk and it’s easy to forget how things _should_ be.

It feels like barely any time passed when the tired barkeeper kicks them out, and they’re both swaying slightly on their feet and leaning onto each other.

“Pity they close so early, I mean it’s _Saturday_,” Regulus whines, a pout gracing his lips and James laughs at the open, nearly childish expression, all sense of poise and composure obviously long forgotten.

It’s even more fun to him, because he can pull out the bottle of whiskey he bought earlier with a self-satisfied grin and dangle it in front of Regulus’ face, watching as his eyes light up and he looks at James like he just promised him that he’s never going to suffer through another horrible date.

“Come on, I know a good spot,” he says, tugging a bit at Regulus’ arm who follows willingly.

“You’re not so bad, Potter,” Regulus grins after taking a sip, holding the bottle out to him.

He holds a hand to his chest and tilts his head back, sighing theatrically. “You only like me for the alcohol! I knew it!”

Regulus snorts and shoves him, but then smiles, softer than he has any right to. “It’s a bonus, but it wouldn’t be enough to win me over. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he grins, throwing an arm around Regulus' shoulders and pulling him into a narrow side street, revelling in the way Regulus sneaks an arm around his waist without any hesitation.

After a quick glance to make sure that they’re alone, he pulls his wand and spells the grey door open, a finger on his lips to tell Regulus to be silent. To his credit, he only looks amused.

Reaching the fifth floor takes a while in their intoxicated state and he suspects that they’re far less silent than they should be, but they eventually make it onto the roof and he spreads his arms in a wide gesture, ignoring the pang of loss over letting go of Regulus’ warm body against his.

It’s a spot he often visited with Sirius, shortly after they finished school and spent many nights roaming the streets of London, trying to find some escape from the worsening war, from being thrown into adulthood and discovering that it’s not as bright and exciting as they always hoped it would be.

Regulus slowly walks around, smiling to himself and then tips his head back, staring into the dark-grey sky above them, a wistful look on his face. James watches for a while but has to avert his eyes soon. The way he can see a bit of his collarbone and the hollow of his throat, the contrast of black hair and pale skin make him want to reach out, run his fingers over it, make him want to kiss him so badly that it nearly hurts.

There’s only little light up here and the shadows let everything appear softer, a bit unreal as if everything that happens up here has no consequence as soon as he leaves.

He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and carefully walks over to the edge of the roof to sit down, letting his legs hang over the edge and watching little dots of lights move underneath him.

When Regulus sits down next to him it’s close, their legs pressing together and arms brushing.

“It’s nice up here,” he says quietly, and when James looks at him he’s relaxed with a soft smile that suits him worlds better than the tension and annoyance he witnessed at the beginning of the night.

He hums in agreement and takes another sip of whiskey before he lies down, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up to the sky. The clouds disappeared over the last few hours, but there are only a few stars visible, not enough to make out a single constellation.

“It’s a pity that London is so bright,” he sighs, mostly to himself.

Regulus lies down next to him, taking the bottle. “It really is. When we were children, we had a room at Grimmauld Place with an enchanted ceiling like the Great Hall in Hogwarts. Mind you, it was only for the endless Astronomy lessons every Black has to endure, but I liked to sneak in there and pretend it’s real.”

He turns his head to look at him, only inches apart from each other. Regulus is gazing up with a rueful, almost sad expression but he’s still beautiful like this and James thinks that he would like to take him somewhere where they could lie under the stars in peace, how unfair it is that neither of them ever had the chance, might never get the chance, and then he nearly laughs at how sappy and melodramatic he’s becoming. Sirius always says he’s an emotional drunk.

Regulus turns his head and looks at him, and James realises that he has been staring but he still can’t tear his eyes away. There are a few, faint freckles scattered over Regulus’ nose, his long lashes paint lines over his cheeks and he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to his lips.

He couldn’t say who’s leaning in first, their lips brushing together tentatively before the kiss becomes firmer. Regulus smells like soap and something spicy, like firewhiskey and smoke, and James’ head is spinning, he feels like bursting and curls his hands into Regulus’ collar, pulling him closer so that he’s lying half on top of him.

He spares a fleeting thought for the fact that they’re very close to the edge, a few hundred feet above the unforgiving concrete street but it only adds to the feeling of exhilaration before he promptly forgets it again.

Regulus buries his hands in his hair, his tongue brushing against his bottom lip after biting it softly and James thinks that he doesn’t want this to stop, doesn’t want to ever let go. He unclenches his fingers from the soft material of Regulus’ shirt, hands roaming over his shoulders and chest until he can lock his arms around his waist, pulling him as close as possible.

He loses all sense of time, the world narrowing down to warm, soft lips and hands mapping out lines and edges, of soft hair between his fingers and sharp cheekbones under his palms, but inevitably, dawn is breaking and they’re both freezing, shivering in the cold morning air.

When they finally break apart, James pulls him into a hug, burying his face in his hair and closing his eyes against the sudden wave of sadness that washes over him. There are a million things he wants to say, like “Stay,” – “Don’t keep fighting for them,” – or “run away with me,” but he knows he can’t, that it’s not the right moment and that they’re both in too deep.

“Thanks,” Regulus murmurs, close to his ear and he swallows at the heaviness of his voice.

“For what?” he asks, thinking that he knows but needing to be sure.

“For making me forget.” 

And it’s not a promise, it’s not anything really, but, clinging to him just a bit more to make sure that _he_ _knows_, there’s a sliver of hope burning inside him that they’ll both make it out of the whole mess, that this is not the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, if so, I'm happy if you'd let me know :) 
> 
> I know the ending is a bit open but it's meant to be hopeful/positive. You can find me on [tumblr,](https://queenofthedagger.tumblr.com/) it's mainly HP and you can send me prompts for this pairing, for James/Sirius or Tomarry, if that's your thing. Or simply say hi. <3


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